A Short Twisted Story of Death (SherlockSupernatural)
by AwakeAtRidiculousAM
Summary: Sherlock stepped back from where he had buried his box. He folded his arms waiting skeptically but there was no sign any 'demon' would show his face. He bowed his head, laughing at how idiotic it was for him to believe a 'cross roads demon' would appear and grant him any desire he had ever dreamed of. Turning, he found his laughter and smile disappeared. "So you wanna make a deal?"
1. Prologue

I take another mouth full of brandy before turning to a picture that was sitting on my night stand. John and I weren't the picture type which must have been quite evident with his half smirk as we both leaned up against the wall of our flat. I hadn't even looked but Ms. Hudson was quick with her fingers and snapped a picture of us, insisting on framing it and putting it somewhere we would always see it considering we didn't actually have a picture together.

It was weird because I had the chance to get rid of it, but somehow it didn't seem right.

Soon, I walked out of my room, catching sight of John sleeping soundly on the sofa. I watched to make sure he was in fact in a deep enough sleep for me to sneak up to the roof for a breath of fresh air.

I took it in, many children and families passed by which was not abnormal for this time. What wasn't ordinary was the Chevrolet Impala that pulled up outside the house. Two men exited the vehicle. One taller with long (for a man) hair and the other shorter with short hair.

They both wore plaid underneath a jacket with worn jeans to complete the look. They exchanged a glance and a few words which I couldn't quite make out before venturing to my doorstep.

That was when I realized that John and I were in for a real adventure.


	2. Dirty Little Secret (Chapter:1)

Sherlock

"Is Sherlock expecting you? He didn't mention-"

"I don't think so." A husky voice cuts John off disrespectfully. It was then that my light feet rounded the corner to the same men that had stepped out of the impala. "We're with the F.B.I, we have some questions to ask him."

"No you aren't." I say, stepping into view. Now their appearances were clear. The tall one had very sad eyes. Eyes that you see from soldiers. They had seen much pain I am sure. I saw the same look sometime in John's eyes. The shorter one however had cold eyes, they too had obviously seen a lot of bad things but were more 'imune' you could say. He shut it out and covered it with a brave front. The suits they were wearing, I noticed, were hardly a quarter of the cost of the suits actual F.B.I agents wear. The tall one clears his throat which cause me to direct my attention to him.

"With all do respect Mr. Holmes, Agent Stanley and I would like to speak with you. It shouldn't take long." He says very curtly. I size them both up once more.

"Come in," I say, walking towards the living room. "but a little advice, do find better alias's. 'Agent Stanley' is quite pitiful." I take a seat in a chair and watch the two boys take a seat on the sofa.

"Tea?" John asks them. They both look up to him, the tall one looks as though he were about to decline the offer when 'Agent Stanley' cuts him off before he had a word out with,

"Two coffee's please. Black." John nods, walking into the kitchen and putting on the kettle. I watch them both, awaiting one of them to ask a question they had come here for and apparently a long way for their accents were quite American. Maybe Canadian actually.

"Are you here to ask me questions or did you come all this way for John's coffee?" I ask them, folding my hands on my lap.

"Would you like your friend present?" The tall one wonders. I didn't have to look to John and knew he had an expecting front up but behind it he worried I would send him out and not let him in on secret.

"Whatever you have to say to me you can say to John." I say straightly. 'Agent Stanley' shoots a look at the tall one but he doesn't seem to notice. He just looks at me, dipping his head. "What are your real names?" I ask them. They both open their mouth but only 'Agent Stanley' speaks.

"I'm, uh, Parker and this is Noah." He tells me but it was far to obvious that it just another lie. I'm sure even John could tell.

"Your real names." I demand. The tall one sighed lightly but loud enough for me to hear.

"I'm Sam." He says. "This is my brother Dean." I nod. He didn't stammer nor stop. It rolled off his tongue so naturally and to be honest, he looked more like a Sam then a Noah.

"That's better." I say, taking a deck of cards of the coffee table and beginning to shuffle them in my hands as I continued on. "So Sam and Dean, what did you have to ask so important that you impersonated F.B.I agents." I wonder, watching the colours, suits and numbers apear just to be replaced with a whole different card around a quarter of a second later.

"How old are you?" Sam wonders curiously. I look to John quickly just to find him watching me. I looked back to Sam and Dean, answering promptly.

"Thirty three." I say, looking at the deck of playing cards once again.

"So we can place you in Ephrata, Pennsylvania around 10 years ago?" Dean asks me. A card falls out of the deck by my surprise and of course, I stopped. It only took a second for me to continue on shuffling the cards.

"You can." I say simply, my jaw sets and the tension in the room begins to rise. "What is going on here?" I knew exactly what was going on but I wanted to know what they were going to say. How they were going to explain it.

"It's just, um," Sam thought it over, trying to ease me into the idea while Dean laid it out straight.

"You made a deal with a cross road demon, anything you wanted but in exchange that particular cross road demon would take your life and soul in 10 years." Dean says flat out. My expression was unchanging although I was caught off guard. "Oh, your soul? It's going to hell." He finishes. I say nothing still, just flick threw the cards repeatedly as our gazes lock and set. The thing that broke the uncomfortable silence was the whistling kettle signaling that the water had boiled. I hear John retreat into the kitchen after a moment's wait, moving the kettle off the burner but returning quickly.

"I wasn't told it would be only ten years." I say, staring at the deck of cards.

"I'm terribly sorry, but what is going on?" John interrupts. I look to him for an instance before turning back to my deck of cards. I shuffled them so I could avoid an explanation but I could feel the anger rising within John.

"I sold my soul 10 years ago, to a cross road demon. Everything you think you know and everything you believe is wrong." I look to him with strict eyes. "Demon's, werewolves, vampires, the whole lot of 'em are real. They couldn't be more real." John looks from Sam, to Dean, to me and nods once.

"So you're going to die?" John asks me. "For what? What was so important?" I look away and to Sam and Dean.

"Why are you two here?" I ask. "And how did you know?"

"We're here to help you. That's what we do," Dean tells me. Sam nods.

"We hunt things, save people. It's the family business." Sam adds.

"Odd family you have." John says and he has a mortified expression stinging his face. The boys chuckle lightly and I can't help but smirk a little. "So, how are we going to help Sherlock? Is there a way?" John asks Dean and Sam. They turn to each other, exchanging looks before looking back to John.

"Well, For starters,"

"Yeah! I mean, I totally thought he was cute though!" I tap my fingers impatiently on the front counter of the coffee shop that I had been sent to by Dean once John realized we had no instant coffee considering we didn't drink coffee. "Wait, I think this guy wants something," I sigh heavily at the feeble minded brunette pushes her phone down from her ear where it has been for the last 5 minutes. "did you want to make an order?"

"No, I just decided to stand here and watch you." I say sarcastically. She didn't look angry nor embarrassed, actually, she was just confused. "Yes, I want to place an order." I say to make things clearer for her. Her mouth forms an 'O' as she bids her goodbye to the person on the other line. I could barely resist rolling my eyes.

"Go ahead." She smiles cheekily and as politely as possible.

"2 coffee's, black. And a slice of lemon pie." I say, remembering what Dean had told me and almost made me write down to make sure I would remember. She nods, starting to make the coffee. I turned away, to annoyed to watch her any longer and instead watched the news. Politics. This made me want to watch the waitress again.

"Here you go!" She exclaims, putting the coffee and pie encased in a Styrofoam box on the counter. "That'll be-"

"4.47, I got it." I lay exact change on the counter and take what I had just purchased, hailing a taxi and giving my address to the driver.

I opened the front door, walking inside to see Sam, Dean and John all crowded around the kitchen table conversing with each other. Sam and Dean had thrown off their coat's and loosened their ties, making themselves completely at home.

"Your pie and coffee." I say, laying it down in front of them.

"See Sam, Sherlock doesn't forget the pie." Dean remarks as I pull out a chair on the opposite side of the table and sit down.

"Cut me some slack, there are usually more important things on my mind than pie." Sam says, managing a thank you before Dean cuts him off.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. More important things than pie? Do I have to explain the importance of pie Sam? Do I?" They both meet each other's eyes with a glare before John clears his throat, their attention is now on him.

"Can we continue?" John asks before looking to me briefly but in a very uncomfortable state I could tell.

"What have you guys concluded?" I wonder, taking off my scarf and jacket.

"Our friend Castiel is getting us what we need so we can stay with you. It will only be a few days and they'll come for you." Sam says to me. I'm about to respond but John speaks before me.

"Isn't the name Castiel also the name of the angel of Thursday?" John wonders.

"John, everything you thought didn't exist does." Dean responds. "Think about it."

"Wait, your friend is the angel of Thursday?" John asks. "This is going to take some getting used to I can see." he mutters before I'm given the chance to speak up.

"I would have made the deal 10 years ago this coming Wednesday. We have three days." I say promptly. Sam nods and Dean stands.

"Well, we're working on something else we need to sum up for the day. We'll be here in the morning." Dean tells us. John, Sam and I stand. I walk around the table and make an attempt to walk them to the door when it swings open, crushing the dry wall. Dean and Sam both haul out guns as I look to see who had barged in.

"Hello Sherlock, long time no see!" I wasn't sure who she was to be honest, or how she had broken the dead bolt lock I had on my door. The woman started towards me, throwing her brown waves behind her until we are to close.

"Meg?" Sam asks from behind me. She looks confused as she peeks out around me.

"Hi." Meg greets him walking past me and to Sam. Dean and John appear from the kitchen as she walks towards them. "Wow, big Winchester is here as well. It's like a little reunion."

"What are you doing here Meg?" Dean asks her. I watch them and I couldn't put my finger on her name nor face.

"I'm here to meet with a clientele." She says. Clientele?

"Wait, are you the cross road demon that Sherlock sold his soul to?" Dean asks her and it finally makes sense.

"Believe it or not, I am. I used to work the cross road when this hunk came along," She looks back to me, winking. "I don't think I was Meg back then was I? Was it Sarah? No, um,"

"Emily." I say, remembering our first of many confrontations that was not long lived.

"That's right." She recalls.

"He has 3 days left, what are you doing here?" Sam asks her again.

"He's special." She tells him. "Aren't you Sherlock?" My jaw set in place and my glare didn't lift as I stared her down. She turns back to Sam and Dean. "It's just a visit Winchester's, don't get your panties in a twist." She spins on her heels, walking by me and to the door. "Sorry bout the lock, Holmes." She calls, taking off down the hall.

"What was that?" Dean snaps in my direction. I look over to him and the scowl had not left my face.

"I'm not sure." I tell him as honestly as I can, turning away.

"Sherlock, if we're going to help you we need to know everything." Sam says, more sympathetically then his brother's snapping.

"You think I would lie? I have no idea what that woman was talking about." I tell them both. "I haven't seen her since I made the deal and she was a different person." Dean and Sam both had their coat's draped over their arm as they studied me. Dean looks to Sam briefly before looking back to me.

"I really hope you're telling the truth, for your sake." Dean tells me, walking out the door. Sam follows but stops in the doorway.

"I'll give you a call before we stop by." He says, nodding to John and I before leaving to follow Dean, closing the door and leaving John and I alone in the lonesome flat.


	3. It's Where My Demons Hide (Chapt:2)

Sam

"I regret helping him, I regret it." Dean marches around our motel room. "He was definitley lying about not knowing Meg more then her being hiss cross road demon."

"Dean, come on, sit down." I tell him but to be completely honest, I agreed 100%. I don't know if it was Meg that was leading us to believe that or if it was the look Sherlock got in his eyes when he realized who it was, but I couldn't shake the obvious feeling.

"What are we going to do?" Dean wonders. I shrug. I wasn't sure.

"We could ask Cas for some help?" I suggest. Dean shakes his head. "Why not?" I wonder. "Are you guys having fight?"

"No, Sam-"

"Because it's completely normal for couples to fight from time to time." I tell him, trying to conceal a smile. He glares at me before,

"Shuddup." And with that, walks for the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" I wonder.

"To get drunk and laid." he tells me before throwing open the door and slamming it as he steps outside. I sigh, turning around and telling myself it was time for bed anyway with the event full day we were going to be having tomorrow.

I drove the next morning considering Dean wasn't in any shape to even communicate.

"Dean, we're here." I tell him as we pull into a diner for breakfast. I look over and his sunglasses are drooping down his face, revealing he was fast asleep. I punch the horn and hold down, a loud and constant beep startles Dean awake immediately and he was put into defensive mode until he realized it was just me.

"Dammit Sam." He curses when I take my hand of the wheel, laughing. I thought it was funny anyway.

I throw open the car door and Dean and I walked in.

It was then that I realized that everyone had a British accent.

I'm not sure we met one person without a British accent since we had been here.

"Hi how are you doing today?" A waitress asks us as we take a seat.

"Good thank you." I tell her and scan over my menu one last time before deciding on pancakes.

"OK!" She says, scribbling down my order. "And for you sir?" She asks Dean.

"Get me the special." Dean tells her and we pass our menu's over the table.

"Coming right up!" She tells us, taking off. I look at Dean who was so hung over he almost looked sickly.

"So I'm assuming you got drunk last night." I say, trying to start a conversation to fill the silence.

"Yep, oh what a good night." Dean says, resting his head in his hand. I smile.

"The worse the morning the better the night." I mimic his constant expression.

"I keep telling myself that." Dean murmurs as the waitress comes back with our meals. I raise my brows. "That was fast." Dean says to her.

"If you don't mind me saying," She intrudes smiling. "you look really knackered. I arranged something for you boys."

"Knackered? What? Is that hungover? 'Cause that's what I am." Dean says making her laugh. "So what's the deal? Are we selling our soul for this?" I shoot Dean a look to say dean-that's-so-not-funny but he just turns back to the waitress.

"A five dollar tip will do." She tells Dean. He nods giving a classic womanizing smile.

"You got it." Dean responds.

"Have a great day boys." She says to both of us before turning.

"I will." Dean smiles and then turns to me. "She was definitely into me." He tells me. I shake my head, my eyes rolling. "What?"

"'Are we selling our soul for this'? Really Dean?" I ask him.

"I thought that was as funny as you thought blowing the horn to wake me up was funny so shut your pie whole Sam." Dean tells me, tearing a piece of bacon and shoving it in his mouth. I sigh, beginning to cut my pancake. "So what's the plan?"

"Once we get the glasses scorched with holy fire, we can only wait." I say. "Or teach Sherlock and John how to protect themselves." I shovel a fork full of pancakes into my mouth and Dean nods.

"Don't they work with the police though?" Dean asks me. I think for a moment before confirming it.

"Consulting detective." I tell him. He nods again, taking up more bacon. "Actually, John was a war doctor." I remember.

"Oh that's right." Dean recalls. "So how are we going to do this? How do I bathe in the blood of a hell hound?" I sigh heavily.

Right, the trial. The first test and if we succeed, one step out of three to closing the gates of hell.

Of course these weren't safe or easy, but that didn't matter. Dean wanted to do it and nothing I could say would make him change his mind.

"I don't know." I murmur, filling my mouth with more pancakes, not really wanting to think about it.

"Are we doing this again?" Dean asks me. I look up at him but don't speak. "Fine." He says, pushing himself out of the table. "I'll be in the car."

I watch him throw his napkin down and walk away, leaving his half eaten breakfast, empty coffee cup and me. I lay my hands on the table, my knife and fork still in my grip before laying them on the plate and fishing my credit card out of my pocket. I get to the front counter and the woman who had served us was at the register.

"How was everything?" She asks me. I smile as big and real as I could.

"It was great, thank you." I tell her. She smiles.

"Glad to hear." She says. "Will that be cash or credit?"

We pulled up outside 221 Baker street and as the day before, I caught Sherlock on the roof, except this time he had a cigarette in his mouth. Dean walked past me but I stopped and watched him for a moment. He looked...sad.

"Sam!" Dean yells which makes me start after him. He had the door already open and was going to Sherlock and John's apartment door which was opened almost immediately.

"Oh, hello." A man who I had never seen before greets us.

"Agent Stanley," Dean says putting out a hand. "this is Agent Newark." I put out my hand.

"D.I Lestrade." he tells us. "Are you here for Sherlock or John?"

"Sherlock Holmes, we just wanted to ask him a few questions." Dean tells him. He nods.

"Good luck with that. I couldn't even get a word in. Won't seem to come off the rood according to John." D.I Lestrade tells us. I nod.

"Thank you D.I Lestrade." I tell him. He nods giving a wave to us both and exiting the building. Dean and I stepped into their flat and John was sitting in his chair, arms folded as he stared blankly out the window.

"John?" I ask. His eyes snap over to us and he stands.

"It's nice to see you boys." John walks to us, taking both our hands and shaking them.

"So what was a Detective Inspector doing here?" Dean asks suspiciously. John turns away to turn the fire place on.

"You mean Greg? He's a friend. He wanted to ask Sherlock about a case." John tells us.

"And you said?" Dean pushes.

"I said he was having one of his days." John tells us before going on to explain it. "Sherlock has been getting in moods lately where he just wants to sit on the roof and not see anyone." I look to Dean and we both exchange a look.

"When did this start happening?" I wonder.

"I'm not sure. It's recent though." John tells us. "Coffee?"

"No, we're good, thanks." I respond for the both of us. John motions to the couch where we take a seat. "Would you mind if I went up to talk to him?" I wonder after a moment.

"You can try." John grants me permission. I nod, standing and leaving Dean with John.

I open the door and met the back of Sherlock, looking out onto the city. He was bundled in a black coat and blue scarf that flapped about in the wind.

"Sam Winchester, am I right?" He asks, not even turning.

"Yeah, yeah it's me." I respond. "What are you doing up here?" I ask him. He turn slightly, looking at me with the corner of his eye before turning back to landscape displayed in front of him.

"I need to think, but of course you would know this has become a regular thing for me." Sherlock replies. I say nothing and he looks continuously at the scenery. "You've had near death experiences?" Sherlock wonders as I draw closer, so closed now that I am standing next to him. "Or was it your brother?"

"I have been killed, actually." I tell Sherlock. He looks at me, intrigued. "My brother's been dragged to hell by hounds as cost of reviving me." His expression was unchanging. "I was thrown in a cage with Lucifer and Michael. Michael's an-"

"Angel, I've heard." Sherlock responds. I nod once and wait for him to say something else. "What was it like?" He asks me.

"When I died?" I confirm. He nods once and I think about it for a second, trying to find words that were fitting for me experience. "Well, I was stabbed in the back, literally." I tell him. "It hurt for a second and I was mortified until Dean held onto me. He, uh, helped me pass in a way. He made me feel, not so alone." I didn't know what Sherlock was looking for until he whispered something so quietly, I almost missed it.

"That's how I want to go." He decides. I watch him attentively as he looks out with solemn eyes.

"Sherlock, we aren't going to let you die." I tell him. His expression was unconvinced.

"You can't stop the inevitable. Your services aren't needed." He looks back at the buildings longingly, it was then that I realized he wasn't looking at the buildings, he was looking at the birds. This filled me with a lot of sadness. I knew why he was looking at the birds.

"Sherlock, I'm not going to let you down. I don't care what Dean or Meg or anybody says. I won't give up on you." I tell him. He scrutinizes me and he almost looked confused which I knew wasn't likely. According to the research 'Dean and I' had done he has an IQ of 190 and has solved a ridiculous amount of cases with John.

"Why are you helping me? What's in it for you?" Sherlock wonders curiously.

"This is what we do Sherlock. We save people, hunt things. The family business."

We ate supper with Sherlock and John that night in nice conversation. John asked about our craziest experience in which Dean thought he should crown the run in with the angel Gabriel who we had originally called the 'trickster'.

I personally thought Gabriel was the worst of the worst and wanted to think nothing of him. Not after the hell he put me threw.

They told us about the first case they worked together which was where Sherlock had almost killed himself to prove a mad man wrong. I got a real insight from that and found it amusing to listen to John tell the story in terrifying detail with which he adds, "I'll tell you he was and still is fantastic but I shouldn't praise him too much or he'll get cocky." Sherlock tried hiding a smirk at this but turned to the window, sipping on his tea.

Our dinner was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Are you expecting anyone?" I wonder. John shakes his head and Dean and Sherlock are the first to their feet. Dean pulls his gun out, pressing it against the back of the door as he creeks it open.

"Hi, sorry," A woman's voice intrudes. "is Sherlock home, or is he busy?"

"Molly," Sherlock pushes past Dean and opens the door. "what are you doing here?" Dean struggles to hid the gun as she makes her way in but can't get into his pocket so throws it to me. I barely catch it and pass it to John who throws it into a plant in the corner of the room just as 'Molly' turns to face us.

"I didn't know you had company, I'm so sorry." She apologizes politely.

"It's alright." Dean tells her, putting out a hand. "I'm Agent Stanley." He tells her. Right, this charade. "That's Agent Newark, we're with the F.B.I." I could see Sherlock rolling his eyes and Molly nods and shakes Dean's hand curtly then shaking mine.

"Molly Hooper. Nice to meet you both." She responds smiling sweetly. "Hi John." She waves to John ad it was then I noticed her lab coat, maybe she's a pharmacist...I can't see her being a doctor or working remotely close to death.

"So? Molly? What are you doing here?" Sherlock asks her rudely.

"Oh, I got the autopsy report all finished, the man who in that case you were working, he definitely had blunt force trauma to the head and at least 4 broken ribs." She tells him, passing him a file. That was shocking to say at the least and here comes the saying, 'Don't judge a book by it's cover'.

"I'll call you." Sherlock tells her. She nods once, looking disappointed to say at the least.

"Bye John, nice meeting you agents." She waves and turns to grab the door handle.

"Molly," Sherlock says. She turns to face him. "thank, you." he manages and I can see a proud grin spread onto John's lips and Molly smiles widely.

"Of course." She responds, closing the door on her way out. Dean and I exchange a look before looking to Sherlock, expectingly. He looks up from the autopsy, returning the stare.

"What?" He asks annoyed.

"Please tell me you're tapping that." Dean says. I roll my eyes.

"Dean," I say in a scolding but not seriously mad tone.

"Come on Sherlock buddy, don't let me down." Dean says to him but he stays quiet, walking into the living room and plopping himself down on the couch. "Oh come on! Seriously? She's so into you!"

"You think I didn't know that?" Sherlock asks, taking Dean for an idiot. Dean mood goes south and throws his arms up, letting them drop at his side.

"Fine!" He sighs looking to me. "Where's my gun?" He asks sharply. I tilt my head towards the pot where John had earlier thrown it.

"In the plant." I reply and he walks over to it, searching threw the plant when I hear him suck back some colour full words. "What happened?" I ask him and he pulls a bloody finger up.

"I cut my hand on," He sticks his hand back in the plant and what he pulls out was far from what I expected. A demon knife. Suddenly, from the opposite side of the room, a gun cocks. John, Dean and I turn very slowly to meet with Sherlock's hand gun aimed on Dean.

I was gobsmacked.

"Sherlock," John could barely mutter as we all stared in shock.

"Put the knife down, Dean."


	4. Are you there God? It's me, John Watson

_John_

Sam and Dean raised their hands in defeat of Sherlock's irrational actions as I stood with my mouth wide open. It hit like he pulled the trigger. What was his motives? Where did the knife come from? Why?

"Sherlock," I sputtered threw waves of shock and confusion. He looked to me briefly before turning back to Sam and Dean.

"Put the knife down, Dean." He instructs. Dean lowers his arms, standing straight and examining the knife.

"After you put the gun down." Dean says, obviously trying his nerves as he looks to Sherlock. Sherlock was anything but patient, Dean should know this.

"Don't challenge him, Dean." Sam warns but Dean doesn't budge. Despite this and Sherlock's personality, he lowers the gun. Dean walks towards him, laying the knife on the table and looking him square in the eye.

"That wasn't so difficult now was it?" Sherlock asks Dean, putting the gun away and taking up the knife, walking past him. Dean spins on his heels and Sam follows Sherlock with his eyes.

"What the fuck was that?" Dean shouts in his direction. Sherlock bends down in front of the flower pot, putting the knife back to where Dean had pulled it out and then standing, looking to him.

"That was a cult blade." Sherlock responds.

"A cult blade?" Sam asks him inquisition.

"What I mean is, why is that so important you would hold a gun to the guys who are trying to help you?" Dean snaps. Sherlock was unaffected by this.

"Take a seat." Sherlock tells them and they comply with only an exasperated sigh from Dean. I couldn't move. I was still in extreme shock. Sherlock joins them, sitting in his chair and looking to me, expectingly. "John?"

"I'll stand thank you." I respond quickly, nearly tripping on my tongue. He looks at me, obviously noticing my uncomfortable and doubting state. He looks to Dean and Sam, pushing that to the back of his mind for the moment.

"I figured that from the moment you came to me, you could be hunters, especially when you were insisting on being the F.B.I." Sherlock tells them. "Your suits were cheap and Sam, your hair is hardly acceptable." Dean looks to Sam whose running a hand threw his hair, insecurely. "That knife is something that has nearly cost me my life on multiple occasions. When you came here, I thought your main priority was to get the knife. Once Dean discovered it, I jumped."

"Sherlock, we told you we were here to help." Sam says.

"I couldn't tell if you were lying or not." Sherlock tells him, looking into the palm of his hands. "I had to take every precaution." Dean stands, sighing heavily.

"What's so important about this knife?" Dean asks him. I wanted to know as well.

"You boys had the cult in your possession for some time," Sherlock begins and their eyes don't falter from his figure. "to be frank it is the equivalence to the gun taking the form of a knife."

"We need to go for a walk." Dean tells Sherlock immediately. Sherlock looks up at him, slightly confused. "Come on, get up. Sam, stay here with John." Dean walks to the door swift paced and takes the handle hauling it open. He turns and Sherlock is still sitting, probably shocked that he, the alpha, is being ordered around. "Are you coming?"

"Sam," I say, interrupting him from whatever he was reading on my computer. He looks up and casts his attention to me. "You do deal with this type of thing, often?" Sam straightens up, rubbing the palm of his hands into his jeans.

"Well," He begins.

"Well?" I press, worried.

"We don't deal with this often. Not to say we don't know how to deal with it." Sam tells me, trying to reassure me.

"How many times have you dealt with the, hell hounds?" I wonder. I admit, my curiosity was getting the best of me and I didn't really take into account the growing discomfort on Sam's face.

"Around 5."

"What was the worse of dealing with the five?" I ask him, preparing myself.

"I lost my brother." He mutters, looking back down at the laptop screen. Something caught in my throat as he said that to me. It hurt, knowing he lost someone so close. He would have tried everything to get him back and to protect him...but none of that mattered.

"And the best?" I wonder. He looks towards me again.

"Three people made a deal." He tells me, focusing more on typing then to giving me reassurance. "Two died."

"What do you think of Sherlock's case?" I ask, wanting something to go on. Something to give me a little...faith maybe. He powers down the laptop, placing it on the table and looking at me sympathetically.

"I can't say for sure." Sam tells me, ache in his eyes. I look away from him, not wanting his pity.

"Bullshit." I murmur under my breath.

"What?" Sam asks, not hearing what I said. My head snaps in his direction.

"I said, bullshit. You're keeping a truth from me. I want to know, Sam." I demand. He nods.

"Alright." He agrees, pushing himself to the edge of the seat and looking at me directly. "Sherlock needs to trust us before we can help him. He is putting his life in our hands but we can't help if he doesn't trust that we can. He needs to do as we say exactly as we say and when we say to do it. Everything and every detail from here on out is crucial. With cooperation, all should go well." Sam tells me.

"And without it?" I wonder.

He sighs, shaking his head. "It will be a train wreck at the least...and Sherlock won't be the only one loosing his life."

In the kitchen, Sam was flicking threw an old cook book belonging to Mrs. Hudson. I was trying to clear the kitchen table, which I hadn't seen the top of since we moved in. Sherlock's papers and experiments made close to zero sense to me, but it was childs play for him. Needless to say it was difficult to organize it...but I tried.

I kept thinking of how Sam and I ended up like this. What he had earlier said to me.

_"Tomorrow is his last full day until the hell hounds come. He's going to start seeing things and it's going to be hard to get threw to him. Tonight may be his last somewhat normal night. I'll help you do something for him if you want."_

Supper seemed like the easiest and most simple way to do something for Sherlock without him getting angry with me.

"Does he like alfredo?" Sam asks. "There is a recipe here for fettuccine alfredo."

"He should." I reply, clearing the rest of the papers to a neat an organized stack on the floor. The table was visible and I didn't even know it was brown to be honest. "I didn't know the table was brown." I say aloud and hear Sam chuckle. "No, I'm not even joking." I look to him and he laughs harder.

He stops as the door opens and Dean walks inside, Sherlock follows closes the door beind them. I watched his expression as he sees all his work cleared from the table. His mouth drops open.

"I organized it by experiment." I tell him, motioning towards the papers.

"That was kind of you," Sherlock responds and I was surprised to say at the least. I expected him to yell in all honesty, throw something in my direction maybe. "it's how I would have done it." Our eye contact locks before he rips from my gaze and walks into the kitchen.

"So you guys are cooking?" Dean asks. I nod.

"We figured it would be best to have a solid meal in us all." I tell him. His eye brows raise and look to Sam who is scrutinizing the cook book.

"Well that sounds good to me." Dean responds.

"We don't have all the ingrediants though." Sam speaks up, still looking down at the cook book. I'm about to suggest to make something different when Sherlock cuts me off before I'm given the chance.

"I'll run out, what do you need?" Sherlock asks Sam. Sam looks down again.

"Fettuccine, parsley, grana padano parmesan cheese and chives." He tells him. Sherlock nods and turns for the door. "Want me to write it down?" Sam wonders. He shakes his head.

"Not neseccary, Dean?"

"Yeah, I'm coming." Dean says and they leave again.

"It looks as though they bonded." Sam says as the door slams. I nod.

"Looks like it."

We ate dinner again with the boys that night. After a lot persistance, we had finally gotten Sam and Dean to tell us about the times they dealt with Hell hounds. Sherlock payed extremely close attention, hanging on to every detail. They told about their close friends, Ellen and Joe and how Meg (the demon) had sent hell hounds after them. They told us about how their were killed.

Sherlock couldn't give any sympathy for them but it wasn't like that was irregular and I'm sure the boys understood. I gave my condolences but Sam insisted that it wasn't nessecary.

They left after dinner, thanking us again and telling us that first thing the next morning, they would be back with Castiel the angel.

I'll admit, I was not a holy man though I did have faith. This made me a little...resentfull, for not praying.

So, after Sam and Dean left and after Sherlock was to absorbed in his work to notice if our flat caught fire, I went onto the roof.

I stared out across the breath taking scenery that had painted itself out in front of me and looked into the sky. The stars weren't very visible as the lights of the city took the glitter away. It was chilly (shocker there) so I threw my hands into my coat pocket and took a deep breath, in and out. I thought about angels and if there were angels, there was a God.

"God, if you're listening, My name is Doctor John Watson." I say flatly and then chuckle a little. "I apologize, praying doesn't come easy to me for this is the first time I've ever made an attempt to..." I think for a moment before continuing, staring deeper into the night's sky. "Sherlock Holmes has made a horrible mistake," I don't know why I continued to pause for I knew there wouldn't be a response, regardless, I waited. "he sold his soul. For what is beyond me and everytime I ask he's reluctant to tell me. I don't know, God, if you can do anything about this, but he really is a good guy. I mean, yes, he is a bit of a smart ass and cocky, but he's brilliant. Sherlock has the intelligance level to do basically anything he wants to do with his life and he chooses to save people. God, this man, despite his flaws, is as good as they come. Please, he is worth saving."

"You think that?" I'm startled and jump, turning to see Sherlock. I look away from his and wipe my watery eyes.

"Of course I do." I tell him and hear his footsteps coming up behind me.

He looks out across the city and I look up to him then to the same view as he was staring at deeply.

And we said nothing for about five minutes of solace, I felt OK. Sherlock's probable death was pushed out of my mind as I stood side by side my friend until finally,

"If it's any counsolation, you're absolutely transcedent to anyone I've yet been aquainted with." He says. I look up to him.

"How do you mean?" I ask him. He turns, walking away from me a saying this simply,

"You put up with me."


	5. I Want to be Here (Chapt:4)

_Dean_

Cas showed up at the motel that next morning. He seemed eager (for someone with no emotions) to meet Sherlock and John. John, I knew, was just as eager to meet him. My talk with Sherlock was less then forgettable and I had been thinking about it a lot as Sam and I packed up our gear.

"Are we ready?" Sam asks. I nod, looking to Cas who nods as well. "Good."

"We'll hit the road then, Sam," I toss him the keys.

"Really?" He asks surprised. I nod.

"I'm dropping," I explain. He nods in understanding.

"Sure thing."

With that, I relaxed myself in the passenger seat. Cas sat in the back and Sam started up the impala. I looked around, making sure he wouldn't scratch baby off anything while pulling her out and to my surprise, he got her out in one piece.

I glanced out the window and sudden memories of yesterday came flooding back.

_"You know you might die but you choose to be this irritable." I spat, walking down the road. Sherlock was matching his pace with my own and not looking at me once._

_"I'm always this way," I sighed heavily, shaking my head._

_"Is this how you want John to remember you?"_

_"He can remember me how he chooses. I don't have the power to change that." Sherlock responds and I could feel the frustration building up within me. I decide to push that out of my mind for a lapse of time so I could calm down._

_"What about the knife? How'd you get it?" I ask curiously. A knife like that would come in handy I'm sure._

_"Friend of mine passed." he says._

_"How?"_

_"Trying to get me out of my contract." I look at him briefly and there was no hesitation in his tone, only a pinch of guilt. His eyes were not wavering, just staring steadily ahead. "Dean," He says in a slightly warning tone. Before I can question it I collide with another body. A woman's. She smashes into my chest and a burning liquid trickles down my shirt. I suck back a cuss and stop, looking down at the mess of my shirt._

_"I am so sorry!" She says, bending down to pick up her purse._

_"No, that was my fault." I respond, fishing ten dollars out of my pocket, damp with coffee. "For your coffee." I tell her, holding it out._

_"Oh I can't take that!" She tells me, pushing it inwards. "It was my fault and I soiled your-"_

_"Ma'am, take it. I insist." She stares at it, debating before taking it gently in her fingers._

_"Thank you," She says, reading what was scribbled onto the bill. "Dean?"_

_"Give me a call." I smirk. I normally kept a bill with my name and number in my wallet so I could pick up a bar tender or a waitress or in this case, a stranger who happened to spill her coffee all over me. I turn then, walking away to catch up with Sherlock (who at this time was a long ways ahead). "Thanks for waiting." I say to him._

_"I warned you."_

_"Yeah, about a second before she spilled her coffee on me."_

_"I still warned you." He replies and we are both walking in silence. I look at him for a minute before looking away. "What?"_

_"What do you mean, 'What'?"_

_"What do you want to ask me? You look to me for an instance, open your mouth then turn away like your undecided. You can't quite get it out and you have done it three times now. What is it Dean?" he asks, looking down at me. I sigh heavily, shrugging._

_"I'm just curious."_

_"About what?"_

_"What was so important for to you sell your soul for?" He doesn't reply leaving me to elaborate even though it wasn't necessary. "Was it for your intelligence?"_

_"No,"_

_"To bring someone back?"_

_"No,"_

_"Then what?"_

"Dean, We're here." Sam tells me. I look around curiously and realizes the whole trip I had blacked out, reliving the past.

"Yeah," I reply, throwing open the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk. "what time is it again?"

"10:17 exactly." Cas informs me. I nod, opening the door and walking inside 221B Baker Street.

The first thing that caught my eyes was Sherlock sleeping soundly on the sofa, his robe dangling off the edge along with his arm. I look around, hoping that maybe John was awake and caught him writing in the kitchen.

"John," Sam whispers and he looks up, acknowledging our presence. He stands, shuffling the paper into his jacket and motioning into the kitchen.

"Whispering isn't necessary." He tells us.

"Why is that?" I wonder curiously, looking back to Sherlock, still sleeping.

"I'll explain after I introduce myself," He says with his attention directed to Cas. He took a few steps forward, putting out a hand. "Doctor John Watson."

"Castiel." Cas says, shaking John's hand as curtly as he could.

"It's a pleasure." John tells him. Cas nods, studying John and then the apartment. I look back to John who is wiping his eyes sleepily.

"He didn't sleep last night, Sherlock." He explains. "I crushed a few sleeping pills into his tea this morning, he was so strung out he didn't notice."

"You look strung out yourself." Sam says. I nod, agreeing.

"Well there is a demon after my," He stops, thinking as he stared at Sherlock before looking up to us. "after my friend."

"John, there isn't much to do today, just prepare. Take a nap." Sam insists. "Nothing is getting in or out. Not Meg, not a demon. Cas will be here most of the day and if he isn't we will be." John looked unconvinced but complys.

"OK." He says, sighing. "I'll be in my room." He turns and walks off leaving Me, Sam, Cas and an unconcious Sherlock.

I sighed heavily, rubbing my eyes and looking back up at Sam. "But if we don't ward the house-"

"They are going to get in one way or another Dean." Cas cuts me off.

"Well it will keep them out long enough to buy time,"

"Not quite." I let out an agrivated groan, resting my head in my hands. Damn Cas' logic.

"John?" Our eyes flicker to the living room where Sherlock was stirring. He pushed himself up unsteadily and looked around. "Dean, Sam,"

"John's sleeping." I tell him.

"Is that your angel?" He asks curiously, getting to his feet and walking to the table.

"Yeah, Cas, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, Cas." I give introductions before Sherlock walks past us and into the kitchen, pouring a glass of water from the tap.

"He drugged me," Sherlock mutters to himself. Sam and I exchange an amused look before Sherlock shuffles back and sits down at the table, joining us. "did he say anything to you?"

"He crushed sleeping pills into your tea." Sam confesses. "It was smart of him. You really need your rest Sherlock, today and tonight are going to be intense." Sherlock says nothing and dazily sips on his water for a moment before turning towards me.

"Dean, you did tell your brother about my offer?" Sherlock asks. I don't take my eyes off of him as I hear Sam shuffling.

"What offer?"

_"To revive John." Sherlock tells me flatly._

_"I thought you had only known each other a year or so." I say._

_"Technically, 15." Sherlock tells me. "He put himself in front of gun for me. Part of the deal was him getting his life back, the other was him not remembering me."_

_"But you met regardless,"_

_"What is that they call it, fate?"_

_"Yeah I think so. Amazing how these things work out." We walk again in a weird silence, although it wasn't quiet because the streets were loud and so it didn't feel as uncomfortable as it was. Sherlock had gone through what I went threw with Lisa and Sam. Having someone so close to you die right before your eyes and having to erase someone from your life, no matter how hard it may be, for their own good._

_"I'm about to make you an offer Dean Winchester," Sherlock says in a hushed tone, walking a little faster then before. His long legs made this effortless but I was about ready to start jogging just to keep up. "step out of this now. Forget about. I'll get you the hell hound blood, I know someone. Don't risk your life for me."_

"Dean?"

"He told me that if we backed off the case he would get us the blood of a hell hound." I say, folding my hands on the table and looking at Sam, a little guilty written.

"Were you going to tell me?" Sam asks skeptically.

"I didn't know why it would matter," I tell him. "we aren't backing off this case. I want Meg dead, Sherlock alive and the first trial over with."

"OK," Sam agrees. "yeah we need to focus, now."

I walked around Sherlock's apartment, showing him what signs to draw on the walls. I told him the little I knew about each symbol while John and Sam covered the glasses (from the pawn shop) with holy oil so we could see the hell hound. Cas was doing perimeter checks all the while.

Sherlock looked at the symbols I drew and copied them exactly in different places of the wall. I was checking up on Sam and John when Cas appeared.

"Dean," He says concerned. "we have a problem." Sam and I exchange facial expressions before I turn back to Cas.

"What is it?" Sam asks.

"I have reason to believe Kevin has been abducted." He states.

"How did this happen?" Sam asks worried. "Dean," He looks to me but I'm in shock.

Kevin. He's gone.

No, kidnapped.

By Crowley no doubt.

"We need to find him." I say strictly. "We don't have a choice. Sam, you and Cas need to leave now. Search everywhere."

"What about you?" Sam asks concern filled.

"I have to stay here. If you haven't found him by 7, forget it and come back."

"What?"

"Dean, as much as I believe in everything you decide and rarely question it, we can't forget Kevin."

"Then find him." I state firmly. Sam was staring at me, trying to find words. I was more focused on Cas as he analyzed me then simply lifted his hand, pressing two fingers to Sam's forehead.

With that, they had both taken their leave. I let out a short, shaky and unsure breath.

Was that really what I should have done?

Should I have made sure they kept looking until they found Kevin?

Should I have sent them at all?

"Dean," Right. Now to explain to John and Sherlock. I look to John and his generally concerned look was deepened.

"Our friend's been kidnapped." I say. "Won't interfere on this end." I assure him, walking back to the wall and drawing another symbol.

"That's not what I mean, he's been kidnapped." John states. I stop, turning. "Aren't you the least bit concerned?"

"Of course, but I told you both that I wasn't going to let Sherlock die." I respond. "I need to be here."

"You don't need to be," John says.

"Well maybe I want to be."

_"How did you know? About the hell hound blood?"_

_"A little birdy told me you are doing trials and explained it."_

_"Who?"_

_"Kevin Tran." My eyes widen and my mouth drops as I stare at him._

_"Kevin? How do you-"_

_"I went through your call history and most recent was Kevin. I figured I could check in, dig some information up."_

_"When did you get my phone?"_

_"Details, details." He shrugs it off and walks into a coffee shop, pulling out a chair and motioning for me to do so as well. "Let's talk."_

"Dean," Sherlock says in a hushed tone. I look to him. "go if you need to."

"You save people for a living Sherlock, same as I. Would it be fair of me to tell you to drop in the middle of a case and run off?" He doesn't respond and instead draws another symbol on the wall in silence.


End file.
